


Under the Mistle-Drone

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Christmas Party, Do not call me out on any technical logistics, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: It's that time of the year again, and everyone at Sarif Industries is expected to attend the yearly Christmas Celebration. Both Jensen and Pritchard are less than thrilled, but at least the booze is free, and as long as they can evade the mistletoe, they'll be fine. But that proves to be a challenge...
Relationships: Adam Jensen/Francis Pritchard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Under the Mistle-Drone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zelu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelu/gifts).



> for my dear dear friend [Zelu](https://twitter.com/zeluchan) on twitter who made so much beautiful art for me, and when I said I wanted to write something as a gift, the request was Jensard under the mistletoe. Maybe the idea got a little bit away from me in terms of logistics. I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> (I also hope I tagged the right account)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I recommend listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3_tw44QsZQ&t=5892s) as you read.

“Hey, Pritchard?”

Frank looked up at Malik who was standing in the door of the Tech Lab with a box in her hands. “Yes?”

“I have a… request, I guess?” Malik entered the Tech Lab and set the box carefully down. “Though it’s kind of complicated.”

Frank took a deep breath, exhaled softly, and got up to look at the box. “And that is?”

“That’s the thing,” Malik said. “How much do you know about my neural augs? The ones I use for flying, that I can hook up to the controls of my bird?”

“Not that much,” Frank replied with a frown. “Why?”

“I was wondering if it’s possible to create an interface for the drone.” With that, Malik knelt down and opened the box. She picked up the small drone, a little larger than her hand and equipped with a camera. “Sometimes it’s real handy to get eyes on a landing zone beforehand. Learned that in Hengsha the hard way.”

“I see.” Frank reached out, and Malik placed the drone into his hands. “I need access to your specifications. And your augmentations.”

“The boss already gave the all-clear,” Malik replied. “So whatever data you need, just look it up.”

Frank nodded and placed the drone onto the desk behind his workspace. “And how soon do you need it?”

“As soon as possible, but I don’t have a deadline, or something.”

“Right.” Frank nodded again. “I’ll get to it in a minute, as soon as I finish the security sweep after the last virus. I swear, the next person using a private USB stick is going to get an entry into their record.”

“Well, I’m certainly not jealous of your job,” Malik replied with a wry smile. “Just let me know when you’re done!”

“Will do.” Frank stared at the drone for a moment, and then went to get himself another coffee while he waited for the security sweep to finish. He wasn’t in a hurry anyway to leave, because of the sleet that was still pelting down on Detroit.

* * *

December found Detroit still in dreadful weather, but the Christmas decorations fought with valiant effort against the gloom. As every year, the lobby of Sarif Industries sported a giant Christmas tree, and as every year a circular mail announced the office Christmas party on the 21st of December in the lobby. 

Adam wasn’t very fond of parties in general, even less so office parties, but attendance was expected so he dressed up to the nines, having bought a new suit and even a tie. He entered the lobby of Sarif Industries in less than high spirits, as opposed to most members of the staff who had been looking forward to the party.

Soft jazz music was coming from the speakers, the Christmas tree glittered, and along the walls tables were decked with food and drinks of all sorts. The receptionist’s desk had been turned into a manned bar. 

Adam inspected the food selection and chose a few bits that didn’t look too fancy, together with a glass of red wine. Equipped with that he went to find himself an empty bistro table, which were also scattered throughout the atrium. The only one that wasn’t occupied by merrily celebrating people wasn’t empty either, but considering his mood, sharing a table with Pritchard didn’t seem such a bad idea. At least he could rely on not being dragged into meaningless small talk. 

Next to an empty plate and a half empty wineglass, Pritchard seemed to be enjoying the party as much as Adam did. Though honestly, Pritchard in that [outfit](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/98ce36_81a512358c074f098367cd589f49fecd~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_514,h_581,al_c,lg_1,q_95/98ce36_81a512358c074f098367cd589f49fecd~mv2.webp) was a sight to behold: black, slim-fit slacks, shiny black shoes, a dark burgundy dress shirt, a black suede waistcoat, and a black tie. Adam in his black suit looked outright boring next to him, but he had always favoured pure, simple black after all.

“Mind if I join you?”

Pritchard picked up his glass and took a sip. “Too much chatter?”

“Hm.” Adam put his plate and his glass down. “Looking good, Francis.”

“Bullshit.” A much larger sip this time. “I hate this, and I am suffering, Jensen. And by the looks of you, you are too. Ties should be illegal.”

“Well, I’m certainly not enjoying myself as much as everyone else. Present company excepted.” Adam resisted the urge to tug at his tie, for the approximately hundredth time since leaving the house. 

Pritchard did not resist the urge to tug at his own tie, and he shook his head. “I can’t wait for everyone to be drunk enough so I can get rid of this thing without anyone giving a shit about it anymore.”

“I feel you,” Adam said and picked up a chicken drumstick. 

“Careful Jensen, those are spicy.”

“I like spicy.”

“Good.” Pritchard smirked at him. “I’ve seen several people admit defeat after the first bite.”

Adam looked at the three bones on Pritchard’s plate. “I assume you didn’t.”

“I like it spicy too, Jensen,” Pritchard replied slowly, and took another sip of wine. He emptied his glass with another sip, and looked at Adam’s, that was mostly empty too. 

“Is that the Pinot Noir, or the Shiraz?” Pritchard asked.

“Why, Francis,” Adam said with a smirk, “I had no idea you are so cultured.”

“It’s written on the bottles, Jensen. Want another one? Because I am getting another one.”

Now Adam smiled an actual smile. “It’s the Shiraz. And thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When Pritchard returned with two glasses of wine, Adam had finished the food on his plate. He was glad for the wine to cool his tongue and the roof of his mouth, because the chicken had been really spicy. Almost too spicy, but he’d be damned if he would lose face in front of Pritchard like that and admit it.

Sipping their wine in surprisingly companionable silence they watched as a few people started to dance on the wide, empty space next to the Christmas tree. 

“Adam! Frank!” 

They both did their absolute best to smile at Sarif as he joined them. 

“Have a few drinks!” Sarif smiled jovially at them. “No need to look so bored!”

Before either of them could say something, Sarif was gone again to greet the next group of newcomers.

At the back of the atrium, close to the stairs, someone laughed a little too loud, a little too high-pitched. Adam closed one eye with a slight wince. 

“That would be the eggnog, I guess,” Pritchard said with a sigh. 

Adam felt a happy jolt in his chest, and his evening looked a lot better, all of a sudden. He hadn’t had a good eggnog in years. “Eggnog? Is it any good?”

“How would I know, Jensen?” Pritchard looked at him with a frown. “I hate eggnog.”

“You’re missing out.”

“Pretty sure I don’t.”

Adam put down his empty wine glass. “Suit yourself. I’m getting some.”

“Whatever.”

With that attitude Pritchard would get only more miserable as the evening would progress, but that wasn’t Adam’s problem. He helped himself to a glass of eggnog and looked around as he took his first sip. 

It was then that he heard the soft whirring noise overhead. He looked up, and blinked a few times in confusion when he saw the small drone hover in the air for a moment before it swished away across the lobby, elegantly circling the Christmas tree. It had mistletoe attached to it.

“Really?” He took another sip. 

“Yes,” someone said next to him, and Adam turned his head to look at a vaguely familiar woman. “Carella and Susan from accounting already kissed once.”

“Poor Susan,” Adam muttered, and the woman next to him cackled. 

“Who is steering the damn thing?” Adam asked then. 

“Faridah Malik, as far as I’m aware,” she replied, and took a sip of her own eggnog. 

She was standing rather close, Adam realised, and then he noticed the drone coming back, swerving his way. He swiftly sidestepped the path of the drone and refilled his glass before crossing the lobby, eyes on the drone. Pritchard had refilled his own glass as well and looked at him with one eyebrow raised, casting a quick look past him. 

“I was wondering, you know,” Pritchard said after taking a sip, “if you intended to be kissed by Elsie Campbell or not. The fucking drone barely missed you.”

“Why do you think I made a retreat,” Adam muttered darkly. “I have no intention of kissing or being kissed by anyone.”

“I’m wondering who is steering the fucking thing,” Pritchard said then. “I haven’t seen anyone with a remote yet.”

“Campbell said it was Malik, and-”

“Malik?” Pritchard put his glass down rather forcefully. “Seriously?”

“That’s what she said. I don’t know for certain.”

“I’m going to kill her,” Pritchard muttered. 

“Why is that?”

The drone changed course and was suddenly heading their way.

“I’m going to fucking murder her,” Pritchard said again, knocked back his glass, and left the table. 

Adam thought it best to follow him to prevent an actual murder, because he knew that stride with which Pritchard crossed the lobby now. Malik, almost unrecognisable in a black, figure-hugging dress, was sitting at the top of the stairs to the second floor, surveying the lobby below.

“Malik!” Pritchard stormed up the stairs. “Is that you?” And he thrust an accusatory finger at the drone.

“What gave you the idea?” Malik gave back and delicately took a sip of her cocktail. Something pink with a lime slice stuck to the rim of the glass.

“The software I installed two weeks ago!” Pritchard snarled at her. “You told me it was for survey and reconnaissance!”

“It is!” Malik smiled brightly at him. “Think of this as a test run. A Sarif-approved test run.”

“And does that include the mistletoe?” Pritchard asked in what was almost a hiss.

“What do you think? Boss thought it’s hilarious. I call it,” she made a dramatic pause, “the mistle-drone.”

Pritchard huffed and shook his head, giving her a look of utter betrayal. Then he spun around and hurried down the stairs again, probably to find cover somewhere. 

“Really, that guy has no sense of humour,” Malik said and sipped her cocktail. 

Adam looked into his empty glass, and back at Malik. “And how many women will you try to hook him up with?”

“None,” Malik gave back with a frown. “He’s gay, I’m not going to make him kiss a woman.”

“Fair enough. Though he would appreciate it as much or as little if he has to kiss a guy.”

“Probably,” Malik said, dragging the syllables into almost a drawl. “Are you going to get yourself another drink, spy-boy?”

“I guess,” Adam replied with a small smile. “The eggnog is really good.”

“Nice.” Malik smiled brightly at him. “Would you get me another Cosmopolitan?”

“Sure thing, fly-girl.”

After helping himself to another generous eggnog Adam picked up a Cosmopolitan, and headed back up the stairs to sit next to Malik. 

Another round of eggnog and Cosmopolitan later, and they started to hunt for couples with the mistle-drone in earnest. Listening to Malik’s giggles while grinning himself Adam had to admit that he was enjoying himself a lot more than he had thought he would.

* * *

Having given in to his frustration Frank was far from sober by now; it was close to midnight, most people were well into their drinks and had been for a while. Laughter that was too loud surrounded him, and people were dancing in ways that were barely decent. 

And the motherfucking drone was still making its rounds. Frank was eyeballing the thing whenever it entered his field of vision, until it vanished out of sight again. 

Frank wondered if might be the right time for him to steal away and go home. He didn’t want to be rude, not today, not when this party was the most important occasion of the whole year for Sarif, but it was late, most people were drunk, and Frank really didn’t want to get shitfaced. And it was questionable anyway if he would enjoy himself any more if he were. He really should be going home. After the next drink.

Sarif bowed to Athene and gallantly asked her for a dance. Frank watched it for a while, but their dance was completely decent. Frank didn’t know what he had expected, but anything else, and he would have been out of here.

From his vantage point in one of the niches along the walls, chosen to be out of the drone’s way, he watched Jensen stride purposefully towards the eggnog again. He’d been at the eggnog for most of the night, and had managed to cross the critical threshold where the sentinel could barely keep up anymore. If he kept drinking now he’d stay as drunk as he was. 

Frank had to admit it was… interesting, watching Jensen being drunk. He smiled, openly and freely, and damn if that wasn’t a good look on him. He moved easily and with a spring in his step, and if it weren’t for the black, shiny hands and the sheaths curving around his eyes, he’d look like any other party-goer. Gone was the dark and broody ex-cop turned heavy one-man artillery. Frank would never have been able to imagine seeing Jensen like this. He looked free and happy, and Frank had to smile despite himself. 

He also hadn’t failed to notice that the drone had not, as of yet, been anywhere close to Jensen for the whole night, and watching him now, watching him head for the dance floor with Malik, of all people, he wondered if Malik had been waiting for this moment. 

The two were close friends, after all. And Jensen could do a lot worse than Malik, after that disaster with Reed. 

Frank had no explanation why the thought soured his mood that much. He looked at his empty glass with a frown, and deposited it onto the nearest table with the intention of getting himself another drink. Not wine, though. He wanted something with a bit more bite. He had seen a choice array of whiskey at the bar and he intended to make use of that. 

He realised his mistake too late. 

As he crossed the open space of the atrium he came too close to the dancers, too close to Malik and Jensen, only three steps away. Jensen gave him a bright, slightly tipsy smile, and headed his way in a very purposeful stride. 

“Francis!”

“Back off, Jensen, I don’t dance!”

Jensen actually looked a tad bit disappointed, but he didn’t back off immediately, as if waiting for Frank to change his mind. 

Suddenly Jensen frowned and it took Frank a moment too long to process what Jensen was looking at. He was not looking at Frank. He was looking at a spot somewhere above Frank’s head. 

Fuck. 

Malik burst into a fit of giggles, and Frank tried to look for cover but he was too slow. Before Frank had a chance to evade him Jensen had one hand on Frank’s shoulder, the other at the small of Frank’s back. He was moving with far too much grace and speed for someone who has had that much eggnog, and Frank was caught so unawares that he had no time to protest when Jensen french-dipped him. He could do nothing but hold on for dear life to Jensen’s shoulders, and he had a second to look into Jensen’s eyes, no longer hidden by the shades. His brain completely blank Frank had a second to wonder why he was doing this before Jensen closed the distance, and then he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

Jensen’s lips were warm and soft, a faint sweetness lingering to them, and they were surrounded by a deliciously soft scratch from his well-groomed beard. A few forlorn brain-cells fired warnings into the empty space in his skull, but they fizzled out in the haze made of alcohol and the feeling of being kissed very thoroughly. Frank found himself kissing back very enthusiastically without any ability to question his choices. 

A high-pitched wolf-whistle tore him out of it and he came back to himself still hanging from Jensen’s shoulders, supported by his strong arms. Frank managed to tear himself away without embarrassing himself any further with landing on his backside, and he pushed Jensen away with as icy a glare as he could muster. 

Jensen smiled faintly at him, his pupils blown wide, and his tongue darted out from between his lips. The sight made Frank’s skin tingle, but after becoming aware of himself and his surroundings again, he just spun around and stormed up the stairs. He needed to get away from all those fucking people staring at him. 

He had enjoyed this kiss far too much, far more than was good for him, and he was pretty sure he was pitching a tent right now and he did not want anyone to see that. He stormed past the cafeteria towards the doors to the helipad in what was almost a run.

Stepping out into the icy air calmed him down a bit even if he immediately started shivering with cold, but at least the freezing air took care of the boner. Frank closed his eyes, crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, and took a few very deep breaths. 

He heard steps behind him, and he didn’t need to turn around. “I thought with storming off here I made it clear I want to be alone, Jensen.”

“Really?” 

Jensen’s voice was low and husky and it made a shudder creep down Frank’s spine. He opened his eyes, but didn’t turn around. 

“Frank.” Jensen stepped to his side. “I thought you’d be okay with that. I gave you a moment to say no, but you didn’t.”

“I…” But he had, hadn’t he? He had looked Frank right in the eyes, and Frank had known he should say no but he hadn’t. All night he had been thinking of excuses to make, should he have been caught by the drone. And then, the very moment it had mattered, had failed to think of one. “I guess I could blame it on the alcohol.”

“And is it also the alcohol’s fault that you enjoyed it so much?”

“Who says I enjoyed it?” Frank was aware how pathetic he sounded. Maybe a part of him had wanted to kiss Jensen after seeing him not cold and broody, but that was not something he liked to think about.

Jensen chuckled softly. “I kind of assumed you did, since you were very enthusiastically sticking your tongue into my mouth. Not that I minded.”

Frank took another deep, deep breath. He couldn’t possibly say anything to that, could he? He still hadn’t uncrossed his arms, and he was really, really cold by now. He just wasn’t sure he could stomach going back inside where everyone would be looking at him and laugh at him, or jeer, or cat-call, or wolf-whistle. Or all of the above.

“You’re shivering.” Jensen’s voice was unexpectedly soft, and gentle. 

Frank heard the rustle of heavy fabric. Apparently Jensen had more sense than Frank and had put on his coat before coming outside. But then Jensen took another step towards him, and something warm and heavy settled on Frank’s shoulders. Jensen’s coat, warm from his body, smelling of a spicy cologne and of leather and of… Jensen, really.

Finally able to look up Frank now looked at Jensen, who mustered him with an unreadable face. His shades were retracted, and Frank felt unable to look away. Until he saw a movement behind Jensen, slightly above his head.

“You really brought that fucking drone? Seriously?”

“Not my fault,” Jensen replied, slightly pained. “Malik locked me as target, and I can’t get rid of it. I don’t think Sarif will be happy if I gun it down.”

“So you have to spend the rest of the night kissing everyone you pass?” Frank asked with a wry grin. 

“Well,” Jensen replied, and Frank realised again how close he is standing. “Right now the only person around is you.”

The drone hummed and circled them, the mistletoe cheerfully swinging in the breeze. A few fat, lazy snowflakes began to drift in the wind, but they dissolved as soon as they touched the ground. 

Jensen was still looking at him, and due to the coat around his shoulders Frank found himself surrounded by his warmth and his smell, even though they weren’t touching. 

“And aren’t you freezing, Jensen?” Frank tilted his head.

“Not nearly as much as you were,” Jensen replied, voice still low and husky. “I mean, I could think of a few things to keep me warm. Things that don’t immediately require having my coat back.”

“Oh.” Frank found himself caught in Jensen’s eyes again. But right now they were alone, apart from the mistletoe drone. There was no gawking audience waiting for another opportunity to wolf-whistle.

Jensen leaned closer. A snowflake landed on his lashes; it melted as he blinked. “I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe.”

“You think so?” Frank asked, and he might be damned, he wanted to kiss Jensen again, because it had felt so damn good and god knows when he’d ever get the chance again. Everything in the aftermath of this could be solved by blaming the booze.

Jensen smiled and looked up, at the drone and the mistletoe that was hovering above them, then he rested his hand on Frank’s shoulders and pulled him close. “We better not take any chances,” he muttered, his eyes still on Frank’s. 

“I guess not,” Frank replied. It was the only thing he could think of.

And he didn’t get a chance to think of something else as Jensen now closed the rest of the distance between them. His lips didn’t taste of eggnog anymore, but the sensation of soft lips and soft scratch of beard was still the same, and Frank quickly forgot about being cold. 

Above them, the mistle-drone whirred happily away in the knowledge of a job well done.

**Author's Note:**

> And I got some amazing [art again!](https://twitter.com/zeluchan/status/1336304012405002241)


End file.
